A Deadly Game
by TheNewIdea
Summary: It was Wednesday in early July, the schools were just out for summer vacation, a new work session was in progress and the ads for waterparks, water themed rides and Watson's Emporium were flooding the TV commercial business with promises of beating the heat and staying cool. This is an experiment, nothing will probably come of this but I'd figure I'd try it out, see what works.


It didn't matter that all of it was a waste in the end. We each had a moment, standing in the rain outside the office. We said nothing, for nothing needed to be said; if anything was it would have simply ruined whatever moment had been created. For me, the only thing it brought was the beginning of a clear conscious. I can't really speak for Max, but I assume that the rain only just made him wet, for he was complaining the entire time we had been out about wanting to go inside. Max had his own set of keys but for some reason thought that if we didn't go in together it was the end of things. What he failed to realize was that it already was the end of things.

"Sam" Max began his voice low and a little hoarse due to our ordeal, for a lot of screaming was involved, "Enough of this, let's go inside, warm ourselves up."

I shook my head, I had already decided that I wasn't going up.

"You go ahead Max" I answered as I took off my fedora, shaking it carelessly as if it made a difference, "I've got some things I need to do."

"Like what?" Max asked, always one to get into my personal affairs.

I straightened what was left of my torn tie, which was little more than a frayed remnant of a tie at this point and pulled out an umbrella from my coat pocket that I didn't bother using until now, seeing it as a final gesture of goodwill, at least on my part.

"If I told you that you'd only follow me" I replied, "I can't have that little buddy, not this time."

Max scoffed, for I had broken a rule by calling him little buddy, something that I recently found out he hated being called.

"Don't call me that" Max said, "Where are you going Sam? Why is it so important that I don't come with you?"

I shook my head, for Max was always making things more complicated than they needed to be. It would've easier if we left without such questions and simply accepted it at face value, especially after everything that happened.

"Does it have to do with Natasha?" he pressed, "Because if it does, I'm sorry but you've broken the vow. We can't be friends anymore."

"I can't help my own feelings Max" I replied sternly, "I have to go. If I don't I'll be stuck here for the rest of my life. It's time we move on to better things, lasting things."

Max shook his head as he moved up the small set of steps towards the door, in his right hand was his set of keys.

"What about Sybil?" Max exclaimed, "Would she want this?"

Max was always using Sybil against me. I couldn't exactly blame him for it, after all we did have the closet in both our offices for a good while. But that was before Natasha, before this case, when both of us were lost, afraid, and very much alive.

"Don't use her against me Max" I growled sharply, "it's bad enough that she's gone, but don't make it any worse. Besides don't you think she would want me to be happy?"

Max raised his gun and cocked it, the sound echoing through the air and sending a shiver up my spine, for I absolutely hated the sound, too many bad memories.

"I'm not gonna let you walk away from me" Max said, half distraught, "Not like you did Sybil. Not like you did Bosco. You turned your back on everyone! Everything, for some bitch you met two days ago with red lipstick, a silky voice and a slight tan. What kind of person does that?"

The kind of person who forgets who they are. The kind of person who is constantly searching for things and never really finding them. The kind of person who sees no reason why today has to be any different than yesterday and upon finding that it is, doesn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry Max" I continued solemnly, "But my mind's made up."

I pulled out my gun and badge and set it on the stairs. Max still had his weapon pointed at my face, he could've shot me if he wanted to. But he didn't, he couldn't. After all that we had been through it had come down to this final goodbye.

"Good luck out there" I said as a cab pulled up on the curb, ready to take me to the airport, "I'll keep in touch."

Just as I was about to step in the cab, Max fired, the bullet only grazing my shoulder, but it was enough to cause me to wince in pain and fall into the back seat of the taxi. If it hadn't been for my foot instinctively closing the door, I would've gotten another bullet, this time straight through my rectum and up to my skull, effectively killing me. But I don't think Max meant to shoot there, and even if he did, he would have regretted it afterwards.

As the cab drove towards the airport I looked out the window, seeing the rarely sad picture of Max as he made his way up to the office, my gun and badge in hand. Taking off my fedora and ringing it out, I looked away as the car passed Sybil's shop across the street, now condemned and scheduled for demolition in the coming day.

"How did any of this happen?" I asked, talking to no one in particular, "How did we fall so far? Become so distant? Where did we go wrong?"

The answer to those questions begins three months, seven days and eleven hours earlier. It was Wednesday in early July, the schools were just out for summer vacation, a new work session was in progress and the ads for waterparks, water themed rides and Watson's Emporium were flooding the TV commercial business with promises of beating the heat and staying cool.

I was sleeping at the desk that Wednesday morning, the broken overhead fan lazily doing its job, forcing the smaller desk fan to work double time to catch up. The window was slightly open even though there wasn't a wind and the air conditioning was on at its highest setting, both window and air conditioner constantly arguing over who was the dominant force in circulation. Even the desk fan, which didn't say much, seemed to have an opinion as well, for it seemed to be the only one doing its job properly, the window being open having negated the need for the air conditioner's high setting and only wasting more money than necessary, which we desperately needed.

Max was sitting at his smaller desk making more carvings on it with a small pocketknife. He was whistling a tune to himself.

"We haven't had a case in a while" Max said, apparently talking to me even though I was asleep, "It's getting to the point where we have to actually look for work!"

The phone rang, jolting me out of sleep and causing me to fall to the floor, almost breaking the desk in half as my left arm made contact, thudding against the wood with the sound of a wrecking ball demolishing a building.

"Hello? I said groggily, picking up the phone on the way up, "Sam and Max, Freelance Police."

The other end of the phone was pure nonsense, a language I had never heard before. From the accent it sounded Russian or Eastern European, it was hard, thick and didn't seem to have a lot of vowels.

"I'm sorry" I continued apologetically, still wiping sleep from my eyes, "You're going to have to call the local authorities, they'll hook you up with a translator. I can't understand a word you're saying."

The caller hung up. I readjusted myself in my chair and was seconds away from falling back asleep when a knock at the door caused me to rise a second time. I looked over at Max, who apparently didn't seem to be doing anything productive, nothing unusual, and thus, was perfectly capable of answering the door, but for some reason thought that duty fell to me. I had been working 72 hours straight, by all rights I shouldn't have been at work at all, I should've been at home. Technically speaking, since most nights were spent at the office anyway, I was at home, but that was beside the point.

"Aren't you going to get that?" I asked, hoping that Max would be a good sport and let me get the rest I deserved.

"Why don't you get it?" Max replied, "I can't do everything around here you know?"

I groaned, it was everything I had not to wring his scrawny neck until the life was chocked out of him. Who was he to tell me off like that? I was the only one who did paperwork, albeit, half-assed and partially bullshitted paperwork but it was still paperwork. I was the only one out of the two of us who actually bothered to go over old case files, the only one who cleaned house on a regular basis, the only who had any kind of responsibility at all. The only thing Max did on occasion was blow things up, shoot people randomly, cause general mayhem and have a complete disregard for all things involving the law while doing those things. Granted, I can't say much either, for I was known for harsh interrogations, lax detective skills, bad driving, promoting public indecency, and blasting the odd profanity, but to say that I was as bad as Max in terms of doing one's job, was both farfetched and a blatant lie.

Walking towards the door, my tie in disarray, my fedora lazily on a hook in the corner of the room, my fur frizzled and the stare of a drunken bastard, I knew that whoever it was would either be shocked at the sight of me or sigh expectantly, for either way you went it wasn't exactly a pleasing sight.

Her name was Natasha Chezney. With eyes from the burning fires of Hell and nails as sharp as razors it was a good thing that she was a dog, if she were a human she'd scare the shit out anyone who so happened to look at her. Natasha's dress was bright red, matching her lips and nails, or claws I should say, for that's exactly what they were and covered in sequence as if she were about to walk the red carpet and receive an Academy Award. The fur on the top of her head, which was snow white like the rest of her, was rolled up, apparently in an attempt to bring out her eyes. In her right hand was a cigarette holder-black, long and sleek. Made for the rich and fabulous to prevent nicotine stains, this particular cigarette holder was engraved with her initials. Why she had it engraved was a mystery to me, one that I preferred to remain unsolved for the time being.

"Is this the office of the freelance police?" Natasha asked, her voice thick and pronounced, obviously a foreigner, to use the term, fresh off the boat, from wherever it was she came from.

I pointed to the door window, on which was the faded but still visible sign that bore our names as well as Freelance Police in big bold capital letters.

"It sure is ma'am" I exclaimed trying to pull myself together in an attempt to myself halfway decent, "Sam and Max, Freelance Police. Says so right on the door."

I stepped aside, allowing her enough room to pass through, she remained at the door.

"I know" Natasha declared defensively, "I am not stupid detective. Now I have a personal matter that needs dealing with and was told that you could help me with it, if that is not the case I shall take my business elsewhere."

I shrugged and gestured her inside, this time she complied. Max, at seeing Natasha enter, rolled his eyes and without even so much as saying a word, made his way towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" I asked curiously, stopping him before he could pass the threshold.

"Down to Bosco's" Max answered, "Give you two some privacy while-"

I stopped him before he could finish, for I knew exactly what he was implying. Honestly I was surprised he was even thinking that.

"Come on Max give me some credit" I said with a laugh, "Besides it'd break the employee-client relationship agreement we signed when we took this job."

Max huffed, for he knew that the agreement was a lax one at best, in fact, most of the rules were as far as he was concerned.

"Tell that to Sybil" Max continued, "I'm sure she would love to hear about the employee-client relationship agreement and everything that entails."

I shook my head in disagreement and annoyance, for everyone was always assuming that mine and Sybil's relationship was more than mere friendship. That something more intimate was behind it. It simply wasn't the case. Sybil and I were just friends, that's all we've ever been, all we ever will be.

"Sit down" I exclaimed, a slight growl emanating from my throat, "We'll talk about it later."

Max did as he was told without question and sat on the moldy couch in the middle of the room, taking the far left cushion, Natasha, likewise, sat in the middle, leaving me with the empty space on the far right.

"Alright" I began, speaking once again to Natasha, "We're listening, now, what's your problem?"

Natasha pulled out a big leather bound binder, about four inches thick, filled with papers, pictures, files and random odds and ends. Opening the first page was a picture of a dead sheepdog, I didn't even bother going any further, for I knew where this road led and it wasn't a good place to be. Max looked at the picture and shied away, for the mere sight of blood made him squeamish. I was used to it, and that's not something I'm particularly proud to admit.

"We don't do homicide" I explained, "This is a department matter, take it up with them."

Natasha huffed as if insulted, it didn't take a genius to see that the huff meant that she had been to every place imaginable, even the department and that for one reason or another they either declined or refused or simply sent her our way.

"I need your help" Natasha continued, her voice softer and calmer, instinct told me that she had just lower a wall, but then that could've been something else, perhaps attraction.

"He had no enemies, only friends. Why would anyone want to kill him?"

I shook my head, trying to keep my professionalism in check as I fought the urge, or rather the desire, to bring her in close. It was uncomfortable, unusual and yet despite this, it was not unwelcome.

"Who was he to you?" I pressed, searching for details and hoping against hope that it was someone intimate. I am not ashamed of this thought, but I am also not proud of it either. My brain was working only at half capacity, for it was still early for me and my morning had only just begun, quite literally, as she came in the office. I was not prepared for anything, let alone an actual response, nevertheless I received one.

"Nikolai was my brother" she replied, approaching me yet keeping her distance, "The only crime he committed was loving his sister too much. But that's hardly a crime."

I will not lie, I was relieved to discover that Nikolai was her brother and not a lover or a husband. It bore absolutely no significance to the case or to Max, who remained relatively indifferent about the whole situation, strange even for him, but to me it made all the difference in the world.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am" I continued, sweating a bit and tripping over a fat tongue, "But what you're asking is for us to private investigators in a murder case. We don't do murder cases, we're not Homicide. The most we get is vandalism and petty theft and that's the exciting ones. Most days the only thing we do is hunt down locals who've gotten too big for their britches."

Max laughed at this, remembering all the times that we had working for studios covering up scandals and taking down conspiracies that otherwise had little or no direct impact on the community. Mostly crackpot, crazy lunatics with hair-brained and lazily thought out schemes that are solved in no less than three days.

We weren't cops. We were barely even police, much less freelance. We were just two guys, or more correctly, a dog and a deranged rabbit thing, that had a vague understanding of the law and how it worked, who loved shooting guns more than arresting people and keeping the peace, and who had virtually no self-respect and a complete lack of dignity.

"It doesn't matter" Natasha exclaimed sternly, clear in her resolve, "I'll pay whatever cost you think is appropriate. Just find whoever did this. Kill them."

As soon as the words "kill them" crossed my ears several bright red flags came up.

"You can't be serious" I began, "Kill them? We may not be good cops or good freelancers but we're still bound to laws. There's a process. If we can arrest them we can figure out why they did it, if there were motives or other people involved. You don't just go shooting up a place for the hell of it."

Max laughed again, I knew that he was going to beg to differ but I stopped him from saying so, for the moral dilemma of revenge killing was no laughing matter.

"An eye for an eye" Natasha declared, making her way towards the door, "Now, what's your price?"

I said nothing. What could I say? If we agreed it would mean hunting and eliminating another human being. If we refused however, the chances of it happening again only doubled. In the end, I did what had to be done. I threw away all moral codes and ethics aside and asked for $50,000 cash by the end of the case, with a $1,000 fee upfront.

She said nothing, only nodding in silent agreement. She seemed satisfied. Natasha disappeared into the hallway for a few seconds, coming back with a large black duffle bag full of hundred dollar bills.

"There's another one waiting for you when it's done" Natasha said finally, "Unmarked bills. Quarter of a million in American money, to do with as you please."

A quarter of a million dollars for a single murder case upfront is unheard, completely ridiculous and far outside the reaches and spans of reality. But we crossed that threshold a long time ago, my very existence is proof enough of that. Still, it was way too much for a single case, no matter who it was. Something else was at work here. My guess, it wasn't just this case she needed help with, it extended far beyond Nikolai and whatever caused his death. No, this led to the top of somewhere, of something, and I was going to find out what it was, even if it killed me.


End file.
